Goodnight and Go
by hopelessromantic549
Summary: She can't control herself when she's around him. It's obnoxious, really. She struggles to stop color from flooding her cheeks, but it's no use. She can't deny it any longer, so she simply hides it. L/P circa end of love triangle Season 1/2. One-shot.


**A/N: This is an idea that came to me while listening to this song (Goodnight and Go by Imogen Heap), and I just had to get it on paper. **

**This is slightly AU. It takes place in Season 1/2 – it doesn't really matter. The only important thing is that Brooke and Lucas broke up soon after they got together because it really wasn't working. Lucas didn't decide to date Peyton after that, so everyone is just friends now. Anything else should be explained in the story.**

**Also, I apologize for the length in advance ;)**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :) **

_Say goodnight and go_

When Peyton Sawyer was sixteen, Lucas Scott changed her life. Sometimes, she resents that – or, at least, certain parts of that change. Like that time he kissed her in the guesthouse, and told her he wanted everything with her. She hates herself for walking away from him. And then there's that time when she went to tell him she was sorry, went to tell him she was wrong the night she pushed him away. That entire night was a disaster. There's so much she wishes she could forget about that painful exchange, but one particular image stands out:

His face. He looked disappointed, and ashamed, and angry. It was too much for her.

And so she ran.

She regrets it now, of course. She regrets going to him that night in the first place, and she regrets considering sneaking around with him after he got together with Brooke. Because now he doesn't want anything to do with her _or_ Brooke. At least not romantically. But she thinks that might be even harder than him ignoring her altogether.

Because she can't control herself when she's around him. It's obnoxious, really. She'll start to sweat – and she's never been one to sweat. She'll nervously tuck her yellow curls behind her ears, averting her eyes, struggling to stop color from flooding her cheeks. But it's no use. She can't deny it any longer, so she simply hides it.

She gets a lot of sympathy from Brooke, surprisingly enough, and Haley. Brooke because she's sorry about her role in this whole thing and is long over Lucas – she says once she had him, the thrill of the chase wore off. She even repeatedly tells Peyton that she's rooting for she and Lucas to get together. Peyton loves her for that. Haley's supportive because she "knows what it's like to need Lucas in your life." Peyton appreciates it, she really does. Because at least she's not alone in her…she's not even sure what to call it.

But the words that remain unspoken flutter on her tongue whenever she's around him, and she constantly has to remind herself that he doesn't want to be with her. He did, once. But no longer. She might as well get used to it.

It hits her especially hard sometime in the spring of junior year, when the air is fresh and the flowers are blooming. She and Lucas walk to school together every morning. Sometimes they link arms, sometimes not. They have easy, simple conversations about the homework they did the night before or how they really must intervene in Brooke's scandalous sex life, but tension simmers in the air between them.

They both pretend not to notice.

Peyton doesn't want to ruin the fragile friendship they've managed to save. They've been through a lot, and she finds she's enjoying this easy, natural bond. It's so uncomplicated that she thinks there must be something wrong with it, but she tries to just live in the moment. She has Lucas now, and that's all that matters.

They enter school one April morning, and Peyton catches Lucas' eye and says, a little awkwardly, a little bashfully, a lot sincerely, "Thanks, Luke."

"For what?" Lucas sounds puzzled, and he squints, as he always does. Peyton almost sighs at the achingly beautiful furrow of his eyebrows, but stops herself just before she reaches up to smooth his hair off his brow. He doesn't need that right now, and neither does she.

Instead, she simply smiles and shakes her head, as if he should already know what she's grateful for. Frankly, she's surprised he doesn't.

They stand together in the crowded hallway, two bright blondes in a sea of brunettes. Two noncomformers. Two lost souls. They say nothing, ignoring the swarm of people around them. She wonders why he still looks confused, wonders why the conflict in his eyes won't yet dissipate. He should know what she's talking about. Lucas simply stares at the strong woman before him and realizes – not for the first time – that he'll never really understand women.

Finally, just before the bell rings – Peyton feels it, somehow – she leans up on her tiptoes and reaches to whisper in Lucas' ear.

"For letting us be friends again."

_Skipping beats, blushing cheeks  
I am struggling  
Daydreaming, bed scenes in  
The corner cafe_

He only smiles and nods, smiles and nods. Sometimes, she thinks that's all he's capable of doing. She wonders idly if they've both sacrificed feeling in exchange for numbness. Nothing is certainly easier than pain. At least, she thinks it is.

He waves a goodbye to her, then lanks down the hallway, towering over nearly everyone he passes. Peyton smiles wanly and presses her hand to her heart, feeling it beating beneath her palm. It's pounding, the beat stretching erratically, almost in time with the patter of his footsteps. It's always like this. It's become a constant in her life. As long as he's around, her pulsing, broken heartbeat will be, too.

She sighs heavily, probably loud enough for everyone around her to hear. But she doesn't care. She's long past noticing anyone's reaction but Lucas'.

She's afraid to think about what that means.

It's hard to go through the next couple of classes without him, but she knows it'd be even harder if he knew how she felt. She can't bear not knowing what he's thinking. And if he's not with her and he knows how she truly feels about him…he could be thinking anything. At least when he's with her, she can read his eyes. She's the only person who can.

It makes things easier, but also harder. Because she _sees_ his confliction, and she _feels_ his affection. But she can never tell what kind of affection it is. It's infuriating.

She spends most days focused on what could be worse. Lucas could find out how she really feels, Lucas could reject her, Lucas could decide he no longer even wants to be friends with her…the possibilities are endless, and she spares no expense on dreaming them up. It helps her cope with the truly flawed reality.

Being positive is one thing, she realizes. Convincing yourself that things could be worse is quite another.

Because honestly, what could be worse than this?

Lunch that day is a silent affair, for once, although neither one of them is quite sure why. It's not like their whispered conversation this morning really changed things between them.

They sit side by side, every part of their bodies touching. It's been like that since that stupid night at Lucas' house when Peyton walked in on Brooke and Lucas, and neither one intends to stop it. Lucas because he really can't bear to not touch his blonde best friend – although, clueless as usual, he doesn't try to figure out why. Peyton because she's lonely.

Brooke is off with some guy – Felix, Peyton thinks, though she really can't keep up with Brooke's guy rotation – and Haley is busy trying to save her marriage. Peyton's dad is on yet another drudging trip, and Jake has been gone for a while. Peyton is surprised she doesn't miss him more, but that's probably because they were never that close anyway – after the whole Brooke-Lucas-Peyton fiasco, she mainly focused on fixing she and Brooke's friendship and she and Lucas' friendship. Besides, Lucas told her he'll be coming back soon. Hopefully, he'll bring Jenny with him.

But for now, that's just the problem. Peyton doesn't have anyone. Not a friend, or a father, or a boyfriend. She's alone.

She only has Lucas.

She thinks that maybe that's why she's so desperately in love with him. She wants that to be the reason why, of course. Because then she wouldn't feel so completely stupid for loving a guy that only wants friendship with her.

But no. Because when she sits next to him at lunch, and his hand accidentally brushes hers as they both reach for the ketchup, she feels slightly lightheaded. She sways a little, and his arm comes around her, reaching for the curve of her shoulder as concern floods his eyes. She smiles weakly and whispers, "I'm okay."

She's not sure he believes her, but decides it doesn't matter.

It's after four by the time the pair make it to Karen's café. They're held up by Lucas' meeting with Whitey about the possibility of him having HCM – which, of course, makes Peyton worried beyond belief – and Peyton's meeting with the editor of THUD magazine. She's not quite sure anyone has ever done anything sweeter for her than Lucas submitting her artwork to the magazine.

Business is slow at the café – as usual – and the two blondes settle into chairs by the counter to do their homework. Well, not exactly. As soon as Karen presents them with two steaming mugs of coffee, Peyton fishes around in her backpack for her sketchpad and the new set of colored pencils she bought this weekend, and Lucas pulls out a worn paperback of _The Grapes of Wrath_.

They sit quietly for an hour or so. Peyton draws, Lucas reads. For as long as they've been friends, they've done this. It feels right, somehow.

Peyton never lets Lucas see her finished drawings, of course, because most of them are about him. But every five strokes or so, she surveys her work with a critical eye and asks Lucas if her shading is right or if that girl's hair looks realistic. Lucas nods, compliments her on something random like the curve of the letter O, and goes back to his reading. And then, only a few minutes later, he looks up from his book and reads her a quote that sends shivers down her spine.

She thinks there's nothing she loves more than the sound of his voice.

They do their homework around five – at last, Karen remarks ruefully. But she smiles indulgently, as she always does, and ruffles Peyton's hair affectionately. Peyton looks forward to moments like these. Karen feels like a second mother to her, and Peyton welcomes the comfort and security she provides. She also more than appreciates her gratuitous advice. Peyton feels like she actually has a family when she's at the café. Lucas might even be her brother, if not for –

But Peyton interrupts her own thoughts, wrenching herself back to reality. Lucas only cares about her like a sister. That is all there is between them.

She finds it's hard to accept that simple truth.

_And I'm left in bits, recovering tectonics  
Trembling  
You get me every time_

They spend the rest of the day together, because all their friends are off doing other things. Besides, they like spending time together. That's not a secret.

And everyone but Lucas knows they should be together.

They drive around Tree Hill in Peyton's Comet, laughing about Bevin's stupid remarks and Erica Marsh's attempts to undermine Brooke's student council campaign, venting about the problems with Nathan's and Haley's marriage, sighing with delight over Karen's new relationship with her professor. It feels like old times, except there never were any old times.

Peyton almost resents that, almost. But then she remembers that if not for all the shit they went through this year, they never would have ended up like this. And for the first time, she's grateful for that one painful night, the night that started it all.

Until, of course, she remembers that she wants more from Lucas.

The pair falls in a comfortable silence as they head towards Peyton's big, empty house. Silence is never awkward between them, probably because they're both dark, twisted souls, as they call themselves. They don't need to fill the air with incessant chatter. Words are supposed to carry meaning. Why talk when what you say doesn't really matter?

Peyton realizes that's an indirect jab to Brooke, who is a champion at small talk. But the blonde is too focused on making Lucas fall in love with her to really care about who she hurts in the process.

She doesn't want to think about what kind of person that makes her.

But she suddenly feels anxious. She doesn't really want to be alone tonight. She's been denying her loneliness for months, but with Lucas next to her now, she doesn't want to pretend anymore. She needs him. She wants him.

She loves him.

But she only turns toward him and asks helplessly, her eyes almost beginning to water, "Will you stay with me tonight?"

Lucas swivels his head, ready to make a joke about the suggestive nature of that comment, but stops when he sees the film of sorrow clouding her once vibrant green eyes. He suddenly wonders where he went wrong. He always strove to infuse those eyes with joy; sorrow was never part of the plan. Maybe he doesn't want to be in a relationship with her anymore, but one truth remains: he cares about Peyton Sawyer.

And so he smiles and replies easily, "Of course."

He calls his mother, muttering about Peyton and lonely and I'm sorry but she needs me and so on and so forth. Peyton rests her hands on her stomach in a vain attempt to quell her butterflies as she listens to him speak. It's a guilty pleasure, she thinks, listening to his voice. It's the best laxative she knows but also somehow the best accelerator. It's the sexiest thing she's ever heard.

Their journey towards her bedroom isn't as awkward as it perhaps should be, and that worries Peyton. If it's not awkward, then there's no sexual tension, and if there's no sexual tension, then…she shakes the feeling off, telling Lucas she'll be right back. She changes in the bathroom, worry lines creasing her forehead.

But she realizes she doesn't have to worry about a lack of sexual tension when she stands before Lucas in a tiny tank top and shorts that barely cover her ass and lust darkens his eyes.

She smiles to herself as he clears his throat uncomfortably, closing his eyes shortly. She giggles, and he blushes a deep red that only makes her giggle more. Soon she is laughing uncontrollably, and he is merely glaring at her.

But she finally regains her composure, and she offers, "I guess it's time for bed then."

She smiles impishly, and he nods, stripping his shirt off in that swift movement Peyton has always admired. She pauses for a moment to drink in the sight of him, just as she always has, just as she always will, but she can't see much. She angrily wipes the offending tears – tears of laugher, of course – from her eyes and looks up at him, his silhouette breathtaking in the soft moonlight. She inhales sharply and averts her eyes, afraid her expression will reveal everything.

"I'll wash that shirt," she whispers, so low she's almost certain he can't hear her. But he nods and hands her the shirt.

She turns lightly away and holds the white cotton to her face, breathing in the smell that is as familiar to her as the smell of soap: the smell of Lucas, the smell of pine needles and sharp rosemary and all things good in the world. She hopes he can't see her doing this, but she realizes she really doesn't care.

She quietly folds the shirt and places it on her bedside table. She sighs, turning around, and looks at Lucas for a long moment. He meets her gaze, and they stand like that for a while.

Finally, she takes a single step forward. She falters a little, reeling backwards, as if in question. There's a certain stillness in the air, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for the next move. But there is no sudden change, no uneasy break. Lucas simply nods.

And Peyton folds herself into his arms so easily that he wonders if she's meant to be there.

_Why'd you have to be so cute?  
It's impossible to ignore you  
Must you make me laugh so much?  
It's bad enough we get along so well  
Say goodnight and go_

The sunlight awakes Peyton, as she expects it to, and she yawns a little, burrowing deeper into the hold of Lucas' arms. She feels content, safe, and she hopes he won't wake up anytime soon, because there's no place she'd rather be.

She's glad last night ended innocently. She doesn't want this morning to be awkward, and a tearful declaration of love or an implication-laden kiss would surely have provided enough discomfort to last for weeks. She's almost surprised she didn't do anything, didn't _say _anything. But then again, she's had practice.

Lucas and Peyton drifted off to sleep tangled in each other, limbs entwined, bodies curled toward each other. But they were wearing all of their clothes – except Lucas was shirtless, Peyton thinks wickedly – and nothing happened. They simply slept.

And it was wonderful.

She's glad all the drama is over now. She didn't like the way he consumed her thoughts all those months ago, when he first arrived. She wasn't strong enough then to cope with the way he made her feel. But she is now. He's her best friend, and there's nothing about them that isn't easy. And she likes that.

Peyton's alarm clock beeps incessantly after a few moments of peace, and she groans. She moves to stand up, trying to disentangle herself from the almost constricting hold of Lucas' arms – although of course, she doesn't mind. But he mumbles something unintelligible and pulls her closer to him.

Color burns in her cheeks, but she calms herself and leans towards him, whispering in his ear, "It's time to wake up."

He murmurs something she can't understand – again – and shakes his head. She suspects he's somewhere between waking and dreaming. She's never been one to disturb a sleeping person, especially if that person is Lucas, so she only nods to herself and sits quietly for a long moment.

Lucas looks especially handsome when he sleeps, she muses. He's not squinting – although she can't deny that she loves that squint – and there's a sort of childish beauty in the smooth expanse of his forehead. He looks like he has no concerns, no responsibilities. She realizes suddenly that she wants to wake up to him every morning. It's a selfish thought, but one she's not entirely sure how to banish.

And then he says it.

"I love you."

She hears it, clear as day, hears those three wonderful syllables drop off his tongue and flit through her ears. The words sound so wonderful that she closes her eyes, as if to focus only on every cadence of his voice. But she can't believe it, of course. She has longed for those words for so long that it seems impossible that he would say them now.

She consoles herself with justifications. She can't even be sure that that what's he said; he's not really awake yet. And she knows from many nights spent with him that he often says stupid things while he's sleeping.

She turns to look at him, and he's asleep. His eyes are closed, his chest is heaving rhythmically, and his arms hold her loosely to his side. She sighs with relief. He could have been talking about anyone, she reasons. Karen, Haley, Nathan…even Brooke, she thinks with a silent laugh.

Of course, she knows he said it to her, but she disregards that thought. Things are good between them. She won't ruin what they have by mentioning this…incident.

When Lucas finally awakes, Peyton struggles to act normal. It's not easy, of course. She's not a very good actor, and he can read her like a book anyway. They get dressed in silence, Peyton changing in the bedroom while Lucas ambles off to the bathroom to fling his clothes on. They say nothing for a long time.

Finally, just before they are about to leave for school, he asks her what's wrong. She looks up at him, puzzled by the emotions flickering through his oddly kaleidoscope eyes, and tells him nonchalantly that she just had a nightmare.

He nods understandingly and envelops her in a hug that leaves her as breathless as his "I love you" did. She wonders if that means anything.

But they're out the door before she can really think about that, and she soon forgets.

They spend a normal day together, surprisingly. Nothing feels different. They walk to class together, linking arms and laughing about some stupid prank Skills and Mouth pulled. They eat lunch together, chatting animatedly about the merits of '80s rock music – Peyton argues Air Supply is the greatest, Lucas goes with Journey. And they leave school together, heading toward the café with Peyton's convertible top up. It's peaceful.

But it's harder once they get to the café. There's a palpable tension; neither can sit still, although neither really knows why. Karen approaches them several times, probing for information, but they shrug her off as politely as they can.

Finally, Peyton slams her sketchbook shut and shoves her supplies into her backpack, commanding gruffly, "Rivercourt."

Lucas only nods in astonishment.

_Follow you home, you've got your headphones on  
And you're dancing  
Got a lucky beautiful shot, you're taking everything off  
Watch the curtains wide open_

Peyton stalks out of the café, because she needs to relieve the tension between her and Lucas once and for all. She doesn't even check if Lucas is following her. She knows he is. He always follows her when she gets like this. And even if he isn't behind her this time, she's not sure she'll go back to get him.

Because she's had enough. She's tired of tiptoeing around him. They're going to go back to being best friends if it kills her.

And it sure as hell will.

She literally jumps in her car and revs the engine. She drives off without turning her head to see if Lucas has climbed in beside her. She knows he has.

They drive in silence. Peyton is fuming, because she wishes Lucas didn't mutter those infuriatingly beautiful three words that morning. That stupid phrase has made her reconsider all her reasons for _not_ telling him how she really feels, because now it appears that he might actually feel the same way. Lucas, meanwhile, has no idea what he did wrong. He's a guy – what can he say? But he notices that today has been especially tense, and he certainly knows better than to argue with Peyton Sawyer when she's like this.

Or ever, really.

She parks by the river and flings open the car door, climbing out with practiced precision. Her blond curls billow behind her, and she rakes her fingers through them angrily. Those goddamn curls will be the death of her, she swears. She's said that numerous times, to anyone who will listen. Lucas always laughs when she tells him that – he argues that her curls are artistic and soulful and so uniquely her that she can't possibly resent them. She wants to tease him for being so cheesy and Hallmark card-like, but she can't find the heart to.

And suddenly, remembering all those backhanded compliments, all the fight goes out of her. She just wants peace.

She walks around the front of the car and holds out her hand, waiting for Lucas to reciprocate. As his fingers lace around hers, she averts her eyes and murmurs, "Can we just be done with this?"

"Be done with what?" Luke smiles, tracing the delicate bones in her knuckles, missing the blush that creeps steadily into her cheeks, "I don't even know what we're fighting about."

Peyton smiles ruefully and nods. "Come here," she invites, gesturing to the empty space between them. He complies, moving closer, and without a word, she throws her arms around him. She suddenly feels like crying, although she's not sure why, and sure enough, there are tears trembling on her eyelids.

Lucas, the gentleman that he is, doesn't acknowledge her tears, sensing she doesn't want to talk about it. Instead, he turns towards the court and then back to her, challenging, "Play me?"

Peyton bites her lip in that way Lucas finds so endearing, and she seems to be considering his offer. Finally, she nods and walks towards him with all the pretended swagger of a girl whose only experience with basketball comes from cheerleading. He laughs at her tough stance and throws her the ball, which she fumbles.

He can't stop himself from looking her up and down approvingly and taunting, "Nice hands."

She laughs, remembering one of their very first encounters, and teases, "Nice legs."

And with that, they're back to being Leyton again – a name bestowed on them by Naley. (Although Haley is adamant that it is only a reference to their friendship, Nathan insists that he means it romantically. They have a running bet on how long it will take Leyton to get together, unbeknownst to said couple).

Lucas and Peyton play a relaxed, fun game of one-on-one. He beats her soundly, of course. But for the first time in a long time, he really enjoys himself. And he's immeasurably glad that she doesn't hover over him, asking him if his heart hurts and whether he can keep playing.

And so they play until it's close to dusk. The sun has set, colors streaking the slightly grey horizon, and clouds have fled.

"I love this time of night," Peyton lazily comments. She and Lucas are lying on the basketball court, looking up at the dimly twinkling stars. She can't remember a time when she felt more content.

Lucas nods, and neither says anything for a long moment. Finally, it is too close to night. Lucas wraps his arms around Peyton, squeezes her hand, kisses her on the forehead, and disappears into the darkness.

Peyton sighs and walks towards to her car, climbing in without the slightest bit of excitement. She doesn't want to go home, not after the last couple of days. She's just so tired. Of what, she's not sure. But exhaustion seeps into her veins, and she realizes suddenly that she doesn't want to be alone anymore. She wants her dad to come home.

She considers calling him, but realizes it's much too late. Instead, she drives slowly home, pausing at every red light instead of waiting to rush through all the red lights in town. Perhaps she really is accepting her mother's death. And Lucas has taught her that.

As she approaches her street, a boy darts across the crossroad, an orange basketball tucked securely under his arm. Peyton almost runs into him, and she gives him the finger, shaking her head angrily. He only smiles, looking at her inquisitively as he tugs a headphone out of his ear. She blinks, wondering if she's seeing things. But when she opens her eyes, he's still there. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and waves in her general direction before slinking off into the night.

It reminds her of her and Lucas' first meeting, and tears spring to her eyes. She can't believe this has happened to her _again_. She guesses Lucas Scott really did change her life.

Without hesitating, she turns her car around and heads for the opposite direction.

_And you fall in the same routine, flicking through the TV  
Relaxed and reclining  
And you think you're alone_

She's not entirely sure why she's going to Lucas' house. But she feels overwhelmed by all the things she hasn't said, and she doesn't think she can hold them in any longer. Of course, she's also not sure she'll be able to voice everything she wants to, but she has to try.

Because she loves Lucas. She's _in_ love with him. He doesn't know that, and she must do something about it.

She's done hiding. She promises herself that she'll stop denying, stop pretending.

The streets are quiet as she makes her way to Lucas' house. Her backpack sits on the seat next to her, almost as if it's mocking her for being so bold and so…not Peyton. The silence bothers her; it's too much a reminder of what lies ahead. She finally pulls a CD from the glove compartment without looking at the cover art and thrusts it into her player almost brusquely. She's angrier than she'd ever admit. She's angry with herself.

But, of course, she picks a Keane album. It's so typically angsty and melancholy, she thinks ruefully as she listens to it. She wants to curse herself for accidentally picking such a sorrowful artist, but she can't muster the strength. She almost enjoys the soaring melodies. Almost.

But not quite.

It's almost ten by the time she makes it onto Lucas' street. She's pulled her car over multiple times, both to regain her wits and to convince herself that she's doing the right thing. She hyperventilates as she hits that final red light, her heart pounding in her chest as she waits for the green.

But she realizes that maybe she's always waiting for the green light. She's always waiting for someone to tell her it's okay to do this, to do that. But why should she wait for someone to tell her it's okay to _feel_?

She shouldn't. And so she almost goes through that red light. But she stops herself. She has to learn to be more careful. She can't be so angry all the time.

She marvels at her self-control as she ambles down the empty street. She sees Lucas' house – she can tell from here that his light is on – and she smiles to herself. Frankly, she's surprised her heart doesn't leap out of her chest at the sight.

She's so used to it, though. She's almost positive she could drive this street with her eyes closed. It's incredibly familiar. Maybe too familiar.

But she doesn't park in his driveway. She's not sure she wants him to know she's here just yet.

Instead, she parks about three houses down, sighing heavily. She's come here to tell him how she feels, but she doesn't think she has the courage. She walks towards his house with her sketchbook under her arm, just in case, and holds a case of colored pencils in her hand.

She's not sure how to approach him. Should she go through the front door, taking the risk of literally running into Karen? Or should she knock on Lucas' bedroom door, which is more private but will make it seem like her visit has a specific purpose and is not just casual? She realizes it depends on whether she wants to seem nonchalant.

She decides she just doesn't care whether she's obvious about her intentions. She's determined to talk to him. She finds that's all that really matters.

She creeps around his house, heading towards his back steps. Forgetful as usual, he hasn't pulled his blinds down, and in typical nighttime fashion, she can see everything. It's all outlined quite neatly, the orange light from his bedside lamp providing easy clarity.

She smiles a little, grateful for the glimpse of what lies ahead. She wishes she had had that luxury all those months ago. Maybe then, she wouldn't have made the all-too-obvious-in-retrospect mistake of walking in on the guy she loved – loves, she reminds herself – and her best friend.

As she rounds the edge of Lucas' house, she resists the urge to peer into his window. She's right beside it now. If he so much as turns his head, he'll see her standing there, looking like a deer caught in headlights. But he doesn't, and she takes that as a sign that she's allowed to stare at him as long as she wants to.

He's reading, of course, but she can't tell what book he's holding. She can only see the back of his head, and that's probably just as well. She knows that it's never good to catch Lucas Scott reading.

He's most beautiful when he's reading. And Peyton certainly doesn't need that visual – not if she's trying to remain calm, that is (but then again, that's a daily goal). Because when he holds a book, a sort of reverence creeps into those blue eyes, and he furrows his eyebrows and often rubs his neck in that way that makes her weak in the knees. His fingers almost caress the pages, and sometimes he shakes his head in bemusement.

She likes to think he makes love the way he reads.

She wishes, at least.

But she shakes herself free of the fantasy and forces herself to look away. It's time to do what she came here to do, say what she came here to say. It's time for her to be the woman her mother would want her to be.

She climbs the back steps slowly but confidently, holding her head as high as she can. The porch light flicks on, and Peyton sees Karen through the kitchen window. The older woman smiles and waves, and Peyton wiggles her fingers bashfully in reply. She wonders suddenly if Karen would support her in this escapade, if she knew.

Peyton hopes she would. But there's really no time to worry about that, and so she strides towards Lucas' door and raises her hand to knock.

But just as her fingers fall towards the white wood, she hears the familiar strains of a Keane song. She smiles to herself, marveling at her and Lucas' similar taste in music, and uncurls her fingers from their clenched fists. She realizes she doesn't want to tell him how she feels. He has just given her another way. Music is an indirect way of expressing how you feel, right? Art in general is like that. She makes up her mind.

She'll make him a drawing.

She's never been good with words; that's his department. She'd rather just _show_ him how she feels.

And so she backs away from his door and sits on one of the stairs, settling her sketchbook on her knees. She withdraws a single colored pencil from its case – she chooses the color of his eyes – and poises it above a fresh, clean white sheet.

But suddenly, she's unsure about what to draw. How can she communicate what she's feeling? She can reiterate their history, to show him how much it means to her, but that will only remind him of all the mistakes they've made. She can draw their future – at least what she wants it to be – but she's not sure she's brave enough to do that. She mulls this over for a long moment – too long, perhaps. And then she knows exactly what she wants to draw.

She wants to draw the moment they went wrong. But she'll draw it the way she wishes it happened.

Maybe then he'll see.

She sits on his back step drawing for a long time, humming under her breath but concentrating on every stroke of her pencil and curve of the line. She knows, somehow, that this is the only chance she'll get, and she wants to get it right. She scratches out several details, and she curses her own stupidity more than once. She even starts over completely a couple times. And through it all, she furrows her eyebrows and _almost_ squints. It's close enough that she laughs quietly to herself and looks at Lucas' door longingly.

It's past eleven when she's finally finished. She knows she should be getting to bed, but she has no curfew – one of the few perks of living in an empty house – and he hasn't turned off his light yet. She knows she can't wait till morning.

She stands up from her perch, stares at her drawing for a prolonged moment, and walks toward Lucas' door. She doesn't want to ceremoniously give the drawing to him, because then she'll have to explain it, so instead she slides it under his door and begins to turn around.

But she doesn't really want to go. She's simply waiting for him to open his door and look at her in surprise.

And sure enough, he does.

She hears the door swing open after less than twenty seconds, and she whirls back around, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She's glad she's finally done something about her enormous crush on a certain Lucas Scott.

That same Lucas Scott stares at her in bewilderment and lets his gaze flick to the drawing in his hands. Peyton shrugs modestly and averts her eyes, her gaze lingering on those legs sheathed in jeans. She's not sure she should notice his legs, but notice them she does.

"Did you do this?" He sounds admiring, but not surprised. She knows it's only because her style isn't exactly subtle.

She nods in reply. She's proud of this drawing.

She's almost positive it's the best she's ever done. It's a drawing of the night she ran away from him, the night the love flickering through his eyes scared her. He's standing with his hand on her heart, wearing a white undershirt while she's in a black dress. She thinks that's fitting. He was always the angel, she the devil.

But she's drawn herself with a joyous smile on her face, not a frightened, defensive grimace. And she's drawn herself saying, "Me too."

She knows she doesn't have to explain what she means by that. She knows he'll understand.

And so she's surprised when he doesn't.

He looks at her for a long moment before rubbing the back of his neck – as he always does when he's confused, she thinks angrily – and murmuring, "Peyt, I don't know what to say."

She cringes at the sound of her nickname and holds up a hand, closing her eyes and hoping he'll understand that she doesn't want him to say anything else. She's not sure what she expected him to say, but this certainly isn't the fairytale ending she had hoped for. She suddenly feels like this might have been a mistake, and she's not sure she can take it.

She turns around half-heartedly, waiting for him to stop her. But he's silent. She's surprised, but only until she remembers that he never gave her any indication that he felt anything more than friendship towards her. She feels like a fool.

And so she walks away.

It's a full minute before he calls after her, and by that time, she's already gone.

_Oh why'd you have to be so cute?  
It's impossible to ignore you  
Must you make me laugh so much?  
It's bad enough we get along so well  
Say goodnight and go_

Peyton lies awake that night, trying to enjoy the darkness fluttering behind her eyelids, but not quite able to succumb to sleep. She keeps seeing _his_ face. She's not sure it's entirely coincidental – he did reject her only minutes before – but she tries to ignore that thought, because it makes things even harder.

He rejected her. Lucas Scott rejected her. Again.

She wishes he had called after her sooner. She almost turned around when he finally did, but she realized she had to walk away with at least her pride. Because she's pretty sure he has taken everything from her _but _her pride. And maybe even that.

A part of her is angry with him for being so stupid and so infuriating. But she's angrier with herself. Because she knows Lucas. She knows he's clueless when it comes to love – she's seen it first hand. But she barreled on ahead anyway, and for that, she's not sure she can forgive herself.

And worse than that, she didn't give him a chance to explain himself. She was hurt by the confusion in his eyes, and so she walked away.

She wonders if that was a mistake.

She resolves to patch things up with him. Her attempt to show him how she feels failed; she can admit that readily. But sometime soon, she'll try again. And until then, she and Luke will just be friends. She can do that.

Right?

She groans aloud, finally giving up on sleep. Instead, she flicks on her bedside lamp and heads to her desk, grabbing her sketchbook from its perch as she goes. She's not entirely sure what she's going to draw, but if she's not going to sleep, she might as well do something productive.

Her alarm clock beeps at six thirty in the morning, and she realizes that somewhere in the middle of drawing, she fell asleep. She rubs her eyes, still a little dazed, and her gaze flicks to the pad of paper in her lap. It's a blur of colors, really, lines of pale blue and vibrant green racing through a cloud of grey. She knows exactly what it means, but she doesn't want to think about it.

Because she doesn't want to realize that he's the only clarity she's ever found.

She gets dressed quickly, throwing on a shirt he once said he liked and a pair of jeans that Brooke has told her makes her butt look good. It's a subconscious effort to please him, and she resents it, but she can't quite stop herself.

She stands on her front steps around seven, waiting for Luke to come by to walk her to school. But he doesn't.

She understands, of course – they _did_ have a fight. But that's never stopped him before. She's a little worried.

So she walks to school without him, feeling dejected and lonely. It's a long walk – the only reason she doesn't drive is because usually Lucas accompanies her – and the fall air is a little chilly. The sky is grey, heavy clouds circling above her head. She thinks it might rain today. She shivers, cursing herself both for not wearing a jacket and for assuming that Luke would walk with her.

She arrives at school and goes to her locker with some trepidation. She can tell that this will be a long day.

Brooke bounces up beside her, flipping her straight, dark hair over her shoulder and clapping her hands in excitement. She exclaims, "P. Sawyer!"

"B. Davis," Peyton murmurs back half-heartedly. She doesn't think she has it in her to entertain Brooke's every whim today, because usually there are lots of them.

But Brooke's a good friend. She squeezes Peyton's shoulder and nods sympathetically. "Lucas, huh?"

Peyton sighs, admitting defeat. She turns to face Brooke, ready to confess everything, ready to tell her oldest and dearest friend that she loves Lucas and that she wants to be with him but that she just doesn't think he feels the same way. But just as her gaze flicks to Brooke's warm brown eyes, Peyton notices something out of the corner of her eye.

She sees Lucas. And he's looking at her.

Peyton's distracted now, her eyes locking on Lucas'. He gives nothing away; he just stares at her. But that's enough for her.

"Sorry, Brooke," Peyton mumbles, "I've got to go."

The brunette wants to yell at her blond best friend, she really does. She shouldn't abandon her. They've hardly seen each other lately. But as she turns around to protest, she sees where Peyton's heading – or rather, whom she's heading toward – and she can only smile indulgently.

Peyton strides over to Lucas with as much confidence as she can muster. She's ready to say sorry for springing her true feelings on him. She's ready to suggest that they just forget all about it. She's ready to swallow her pride.

But he doesn't give her a chance to.

As soon as she reaches him, he shakes his head and grunts, "Not now."

She grimaces and puts a hand on his chest, her fingers suddenly burning with heat. She wonders if flames will always erupt on her skin when she's around him. She can't help thinking that they will.

"Luke…" she whispers, running her hand down his arm and interlocking their fingers. She wishes she did that more often, holding his hand. There's something perfect about it. His touch brings such security and affection… She longs for it more than is probably healthy.

His ice blue gaze lingers on their entwined hands before he gently breaks their clasp and murmurs, "I can't."

She shakes her head, tears already beginning to well in her eyes. "But I wanted to say I'm –"

But he cuts her off. He simply walks away. And he doesn't look back once.

She's so angry she can't see straight; she clenches her fists and grits her teeth. But there's a bigger problem: with only four words, he's made her realize how much she misses him already.

And she hates him for that. Because it's just not fair for a single person to have that much power over her.

She spends the rest of the morning agonizing over his absence in her life. She wouldn't have seen him anyway – they don't have any classes together until lunch – but at least she would know they were on good terms. Now, she's not so sure.

And once lunch comes around, she has no idea where to sit. It's begun to drizzle a little outside, so everyone's in the cafeteria. She looks over to where Lucas and Nathan are sitting. Nathan waves at her, and Haley smiles encouragingly, but Lucas doesn't even look in her direction. She glares at him in reply and walks away. She knows it's a childish thing to do, but she doesn't think she can stand being around him when he's being like this.

So she sits with Brooke and Felix. The happy couple shoots each other coy smiles, shares lingering kisses, and generally ignores Peyton. She would be disgusted; she really would, if not for her longing to have what they have.

So she says nothing.

The rest of the afternoon breezes past her, and for that she's thankful. But when the bell rings, she feels uncertain. And it suddenly hits her that she has no idea who she is without him.

She walks home alone. The drizzle has escalated into a light patter by now, and she's cold. It feels weird to be walking home, too. She's so used to going to Karen's café after school that she stops halfway down her street and heads in the other direction.

She knows that part of her reasoning is that she wants to see him.

But he's not there, and after buying a coffee and talking quickly with Karen, Peyton says her goodbyes and gets out of there. It's too stifling; she associates everything in this place with him, and she just can't bear it any longer.

But as she bursts through the door, Karen yells after her, "Peyton, take an umbrella!"

Peyton smiles and whirls around, taking a small black umbrella from Karen's outstretched hands. She thanks the older woman, realizing that Karen really cares about her. It's a gratifying thought.

She figures she'll maybe go to the Rivercourt. If he's not with her, he's usually there.

But apparently, he's thought this through pretty well. He's not at the Rivercourt, and upon further inspection, she realizes that he's not at any of their usual haunts. He doesn't want to be found. And she has too much pride to go to his house.

The rain is cold, and she doesn't want to search for him anymore. She's not sure he even deserves it.

It's a Friday night, but she sure as hell doesn't feel like going out. Not without him, anyway.

So she goes to her empty house instead. It's lonely, but she's surprised at just how terrified she is. She's usually alone; why does it hit her so hard now?

Maybe because it's begun to thunder outside.

She grabs a quick snack and runs up the stairs, sitting at her desk. She turns on her video cam, just in case he's watching – although by now she's fairly certain he's not – and does what little homework she has (it _is _a Friday) instead of sketching. She hopes he's watching, just so he'll know that she's so distraught she can't even draw.

Of course, that's not the case. But the whole damsel-in-distress has always appealed to him, and she fully intends to exploit that.

But he never comes.

_One of these days  
You'll miss your train  
And come stay with me  
(It's always say goodnight and go)  
We'll have drinks and talk about things  
And any excuse to stay awake with you_

By eight, Peyton's getting antsy. She's glad she decided not to go out – she would have just moped around all night – but it's getting really bad out there, and she's scared out of her mind. She thinks she heard a couple trees in her backyard fall, and occasional flashes of lightning illuminate her entire room. The power went out around seven thirty.

She sits in darkness, biting her nails nervously. She doesn't want to call Lucas, of course. He's supposed to go to Charlotte tonight to visit Keith, and he's probably gone already. Besides, they're fighting. At least, _he_ seems to think they are.

And so she calls in reinforcements. She grabs her cell phone from where it lies on her bed and quickly dials Brooke's number, rocking back and forth as she waits for her best friend to pick up.

When Brooke picks up, there's silence. Peyton's surprised Brooke's end of the line isn't loud. She assumed she would be at a party or something. But there's no background noise, except for the crack of thunder.

"Brooke?" Peyton asks anxiously, wondering if she's dialed the right number.

"Hey, Peyt," Brooke answers calmly. She doesn't _sound_ like she's at a party, but one never knows with that girl…

"Where are you?" Peyton is more curious than she'd ever to admit.

"At Felix's." Brooke giggles a little, and Peyton sighs heavily. It sounds like she and Felix are enjoying a little…extracurricular activity. Apparently, Brooke really hasn't changed since the failure-that-was-Lucas.

But Peyton immediately feels guilty for thinking such a disloyal thought when Brooke laughs again, loudly and excitedly, and explains, "We're cuddling." Peyton hears a kissing sound, and she smiles to herself. Because best friends don't begrudge each other happiness, and Brooke sounds happy.

Although Peyton thinks it might make her feel better to rag on Brooke.

But she's not that mean – at least, she doesn't think she is – so she only holds the phone tight to her ear and whimpers, "Could you come over? I'm scared." She knows she sounds like a wimp, but she can't help herself. She wants her best friend.

Brooke clucks like the mother hen she isn't and gently declines. "I'm sorry, Peyton." Peyton begins to whine, disgruntled at Felix's boisterous laughter in the background, but Brooke cuts her off, explaining, "It's really bad outside, and I just can't leave. Besides, it's not me you really want."

Peyton shakes her head, about to protest, but Brook cuts her off again. "You want Lucas."

Peyton hangs up without another word. She imagines she can hear Brooke laughing to Felix about her, but frankly, who can blame them? She's pitiful. She can't even tell Lucas how she really feels without it blowing up in her face.

And Brooke's completely right. She just wants Lucas.

The moment Peyton puts her cell phone down, she hears the stairs creaking. She thinks it might just be the wind – after all, her house isn't exactly new, and it's prone to cracks and hisses – but she thinks she hears a man cursing. She's suddenly very afraid. She's also angry with herself for not locking the front door. She never does, but she should have this time because of the storm.

She grabs a baseball bat from the corner of her room (she's not entirely sure why it's there, but she's not about to complain). She feels safer now, although she knows she's no match for anyone over the age of sixteen. Or maybe even younger.

And just as she hoists the bat on her shoulder, the man bursts through her open doorway and wraps his arms around her.

She struggles, of course, screaming as loud as she can and trying to knee the man in the groin. She's never taken any self-defense classes, but she's seen enough TV to know the basics. She's not sure she's strong enough to hold him off if he tries anything, but she figures she can at least stop him from –

But as she breathes in, almost shaking with fear, she realizes she's made a mistake. Because the man smells like pine needles and rosemary. The man smells like Lucas.

It _is_ Lucas.

Peyton gasps in shock and leans her head against Luke's chest, tears streaming down her face. She stops struggling, letting her entire body go limp, and rests all her weight on him. He laughs lightly and holds her tighter, resting his chin on the top of her head. He's soaked from the rain, and she can feel the moisture clinging to her skin. But he's Lucas, and he's not a rapist or a murderer, and she's not alone anymore, and she can't quell the relief that courses through her.

She's not sure she wants to.

They break apart after a long moment, and she looks at him in astonishment, remembering suddenly that he's supposed to be in Charlotte right now. She asks him curiously, "Why aren't you in Charlotte?"

He shrugs, explaining, "I was supposed to drive up there, and it's absolutely crazy right now." She nods – all that makes sense. But then he continues, "Besides, after the way we left things today, I just -"

She doesn't let him finish. "After the way _you_ left things today, you mean," she exclaims defiantly.

They look at each other. She's the first to look away.

"I'll get you a change of clothes," she offers quietly, purposely avoiding his gaze. He opens his mouth, but seems to think better of it, instead merely nodding.

She pads out of the room in her socked feet, hugging her arms around herself. She can't believe he's here. It scares her a little. It almost makes her angry. Does he think he can just waltz in her house and expect her to welcome him with open arms?

Oh, right. She's never shut him out before.

And suddenly, she feels slightly ashamed of herself. She's bent so many of her rules for this boy, and all he's done is break her heart. He's done it unintentionally, but still. She can't believe she's let him in. It's so unlike her.

But he's Lucas Scott, and she's Peyton Sawyer. This is what they do.

She sighs and heads towards her father's room, hoping to find some clothes that'll fit Luke there, but then realizes that Luke has left plenty of stuff here over the past few months. She opens the closet in the hallway and fishes out a pair of gray sweatpants and a Villanova sweatshirt that she thinks he left here a couple nights ago. She can't find a shirt for him to wear, and she guesses he'll just have to borrow one of her old t-shirts. She hopes he won't complain. She _thinks_ he won't complain; he once said he loves wearing her t-shirts because they smell like her.

She walks back into her room and wordlessly hands him the clothes, turning around so he can have some privacy.

It's quiet for a long moment. He peels off his wet clothes and she thinks. She's ashamed of what she thinks about; she can't help imagining what he must look like right now. His long, lean torso slick with rain, his feet bare and clean, his hair spiky and falling over his eyes…she swallows and tries to banish the image.

But it's too late. The damage is done.

While he's pulling on the sweatpants – she can tell by the sound of the fabric sliding over his skin, as weird as that sounds – he says bluntly, "I'm sorry."

She doesn't reply, and he turns around and walks towards her. Her back is facing him; she knows he's done changing, but she doesn't want to talk to him just yet. She wants to make him work for it, like he made her work to talk to him today. And she doesn't want to look at his rain-darkened hair and strong arms. She knows he'll look beautiful, and she's afraid it will hurt. Because she can't have him.

"I just…" he trails off, and she whirls around to face him at last. She glares at him, fire dancing in her green eyes. But he looks so…_hot_. She feels lust darken her eyes, and she wills it away doesn't know what could possibly excuse his behavior, and until he explains, she won't allow herself to want him the way she thinks she might want him.

He shrugs. "I was scared."

She scoffs. She knows what it's like to be scared. It's a feeble excuse, and she won't accept it.

But he holds up a hand. "You gave me that drawing -" her cheeks burn with color, but he sounds reverent, and he's shaking his head admiringly – "And I didn't know what to say. I still don't."

She's surprised at his honesty, but not entirely pleased. "Well then maybe you should leave," she says haughtily, crossing her arms defensively.

But he places his hands on her shoulders, and the warmth seeps into her chilled body. She feels woozy and unbalanced. He looks at her for a long moment, his gaze affectionate and hopelessly sincere. She knows he's going to say something that will change the fragile balance of their friendship, and she's not sure she wants him to. She thinks she's had enough of their uneasiness. She decides she'll just have to sacrifice the possibility of a relationship with the only guy she'll ever truly love. Because a relationship might break them.

And she's not ready to let go of him.

She shivers at his touch and starts to shake her head, and he laughs at her stiffness.

"I don't want to leave," he says softly, leaning towards her and kissing her on the forehead. His lips are cool and soft, and she sways a little. It reminds her of the night they almost slept together. But this time, she's not running away.

He doesn't hesitate before steadying her. He pulls back to look at her and strokes her cheek, chuckling under his breath. She wants to snap at him, but somehow, she can't find the strength.

"And there's just one more thing," he whispers, his eyes tracing the outline of her face. She can't really see him in the darkness, but she thinks he looks scared. But scared of what? She's the one who put it all on the line. And she's the one who got burned.

But she can't stop herself from being slightly curious. She wonders what he can possibly have to say to her.

"Yes?" she breathes, hardly able to contain her eagerness.

He hesitates a little.

"I love you."

_You'd sleep here, I'd sleep there  
But then the heating might be down again  
At my convenience  
We'd be good, we'd be great together_

She looks at him in shock for a long moment. He stares uneasily back at her, almost as if he wants to retract his statement. But his eyes are smoldering ice blue fire, and his jaw is set in determination. It's obvious he means what he says.

She shakes her head slightly. She's not sure what to say, because she really doesn't know what she's feeling right now.

It's too conflicting, she realizes. She doesn't know what's more overwhelming: the joy or the astonishment. And she's surprised she's not feeling angry at all. But maybe that's because she's waited too long to hear those words to yell at him for saying them now. That'll come later.

She thinks.

Finally, she makes up her mind. She averts her eyes, murmuring, "Lucas…"

He sighs at the word, and she looks up at him, startled by the clear love in his eyes. She wonders why she's never seen it before. How could she have missed it? But maybe she's just been too caught up in her own feelings to notice his.

He takes a small step towards her, closing what little distance remains between them, and touches his finger to her chin. He caresses her skin and gently tilts her chin upward, his eyes and mouth and cheeks smiling. He seems so happy. She wishes she could feel the same way. He leans against her, pressing the length of his body to hers, and she gasps. She's never felt so completely loved and desired.

And she wants to say the words back, she does. She's not sure she's ever wanted anything more.

But she's suddenly uncertain. What will this mean for them?

She shakes her head, but he kisses her on the forehand and whispers against her skin, "Peyton." He says it like a prayer, and she shivers.

She can feel every edge and crevice of his body on hers, and she aches to touch him. But their hands aren't clasped, and their lips aren't meeting, and she can't take him into her arms without acknowledging what he's said.

And she's afraid to. She's afraid of what will happen once she says those words back to him. So she says nothing, and they stand together for a long moment, heads hung, foreheads almost touching.

Finally, he looks up and into her eyes and whispers, the words barely audible over the sighing of the wind, "I meant it."

She knows he did. "I know."

He nods, his eyes unreadable. He seems expectant, as if he's waiting for her to do something. So she smiles a little and points out nervously, "But you always say that."

It's true, in a way. They sometimes exchange "I love you"s, in that cute, sarcastic, teasing way friends do. But it's never meant as much as it does this time. He's never been as serious as he is now. And neither has she.

He nods, whether in agreement or acknowledgement – or both – she can't tell. It's her turn to wait.

"But this time," he murmurs at last, his lips gliding along the edge of her jaw as she shivers at his touch, "It's different."

She knows it is. She can feel it.

"I love you."

He says it again, and she swallows hard, gazing at him with so much fear and joy that he longs to kiss her emotion away. He's not sure what she's feeling, and neither is she.

But she takes a chance. She doesn't know what will happen next, and she's not sure she's doing the right thing. But she loves him, and she's waited for him to love her for so long that she can't breathe now.

So she whispers, "I love you, too."

He smiles, and they're quiet for a moment.

And then he's everywhere. His lips are on hers, his hands are on her waist, her fingers are locked in his messy, spiky, wet hair. He catches her mouth in a kiss filled with so much love that tears spring to her eyes. It reminds her of the last time they kissed, because it's so frantic and passionate and it's a release of so many months of pent-up desire. But there's so much more to this kiss, so much more concern and affection and _love_. She's not sure she can handle it.

But she wants it, so she kisses him back.

And his hands linger on her hips, pushing the fabric of her long-sleeved tee up as she leans into him. The air feels cold on her exposed skin, but his fingers are warm and soft and she knows she's succumbing to something so much more powerful than she can ever be. She doesn't want to resist it. She can feel his legs against hers, and suddenly, she knows she's ready.

She boldly grinds her hips against his and murmurs, "Luke…" It's more of a pant than a sigh, and she's almost embarrassed. But she forgets her shame when his lips break apart from hers and his eyes are so dark that she thinks she's staring at the night sky. She resists the urge to smile, instead leaning in to gently press her lips to his.

This kiss is soft, and full of promises. It's exactly what they both want it to be. It's what that first kiss they shared in Nathan's guest house should have been like.

She whispers against his lips, "I want to."

He looks at her in surprise. "Are you sure? I mean…" He sounds uncertain, and she smiles at his trepidation. She nods. He shakes his head once more, but she laces her hands around his neck and looks at him affectionately.

"I'm sure."

That's all the consent he needs. He grasps the bottom of her shirt and pulls it over her head quickly, his eyes lingering on the black bra covering her breasts. She almost crosses her arms across her chest, but she sees the hunger in his eyes and she feels so beautiful that she doesn't feel the need to. And she wants to see all of him, too.

She lifts his shirt off his sculpted chest and runs her hands across the perfectly defined planes, sighing with delight. Even in the darkness, she can see him blushing.

He really is a beautiful man. And now he's hers.

He walks them backwards to her bed, and he falls back on her covers while she lands on top of him. She looks into his eyes for a long moment, and he brushes her hair behind her ears.

"Why did it take us so long to get here?" He asks her. She laughs, but the sound dies off when she realizes he's genuinely puzzled. She thinks for a moment.

"Because we're both so stubborn."

He laughs, and kisses her again, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. She presses her bare chest against his and whispers, "But I'm glad we're here now."

He only smiles.

In a few moments, all their clothes are discarded, and he's flipped her over so he's hovering on top of her. He places his hands on either side of her face and cocks his head, as if in question. She strokes his cheek and gazes at him thoughtfully.

She loves him, she really does. She's glad they've finally made it to this point.

But to be honest, she's a little scared; the last time she had sex was with Nathan, and he didn't exactly treat her delicately. She doesn't know if Lucas is a virgin. And she's just not sure how much this will change them. Suddenly, it all feels very overwhelming.

But he smiles at her and kisses her forehead reassuringly, whispering, "We can wait."

But she doesn't want to wait – she's aching with barely suppressed desire – and so she tugs his face down towards hers and lets him take her away.

It's not at all what she remembers. It's not rough or forced. He's not drunk, and she's not bored out of her mind. They're not doing it just because he's horny and this is what couples do. He's not going to brag to all his friends about it, and she's not going to check it off in her mind as if it's just another item on her To-Do List.

Because it's not at all what she remembers.

He's gentle and loving. He kisses her softly, then passionately. So many emotions flicker through his eyes that she's surprised she can identify them all: love, fear, joy, trepidation, sorrow, longing. And he lingers with her, when he can. And he smiles at her and tells her she's beautiful and shields her from the pouring rain outside.

But that's the most romantic thing, she thinks. The rain is pattering against her thin windows, and bolts of lightning expose their naked bodies to each other. And all she can see, all she can _feel_, is Lucas Scott's smile.

And she decides that he does make love the way he reads.

_Why'd you have to be so cute?  
It's impossible to ignore you  
Must you make me laugh so much?  
It's bad enough we get along so well  
Say goodnight and go_

They wake up with their legs intertwined and their arms around each other. It's so hopelessly _them_ that he laughs and she cries.

He holds her until the tears streaming down her face have eased a little. He knows she's not sad, exactly. They're almost happy tears. Almost. But she has no idea what she's feeling. It's too complicated to put a name to it.

When the tears are dry and her cheeks are only stained – not drenched – with moisture, he presses a gentle kiss to her temple and whispers, "Morning, Peyt." He doesn't mention her tears. There's no need to.

She smiles and sighs contentedly, leaning into his embrace. "Morning, Luke."

They're silent for a long moment, enjoying the early morning sunshine. The sky is clear today, blue and cloudless. Peyton guesses it rained itself out. She's glad, although she's not entirely sure why. Maybe because the clouds hanging over her head are finally gone. She feels like today is a clear day, a new day.

She'll start over today. And she'll start over with Lucas.

She smiles again and turns her head to look at him. "Did that really happen?" she asks wonderously. She stretches her arms above her head and yawns lazily.

He nods and admires her as she sits up. "I think it really did."

She nods thoughtfully. She's surprised she's not more nervous. She's not as experienced as Brooke is at the morning after and the walk of shame, but she knows it's not supposed to be this comfortable after a first time. But then again, she and Luke aren't your average hook-ups.

Or are they?

She hopes this wasn't just a one-night stand to him, and she thinks it wasn't, but she can't be sure. She allows her defensive barriers to creep back up around her, shaking her arm free of Luke's protective grasp and asking harshly, "What does this mean?"

She has to give him credit, though, because he doesn't even hesitate before replying, "It means I want you to be my girlfriend."

She stares at him in shock. "What?" She can't stop herself from asking, even though she heard him perfectly.

"You heard me," he admonishes playfully, "I want you to be my girlfriend." He pauses for a moment, gauging her reaction. He looks almost frightened of what she's going to say. His voice is unsure when he asks, "Okay?"

She smiles shyly. "Okay."

He reaches up to kiss her, and she gladly reciprocates.

A half hour passes before they pull themselves out of bed. She makes pancakes while he reads the morning newspaper, and she can't help thinking that this is what she wants her life to be like. She wants to eat breakfast with Lucas Scott every morning.

It's a big step, and it's probably not a very safe thing to think. But she's a girl who knows what she wants, and she wants to share a home and a family with him. She wants him to _be_ her family.

She's not sure what they should do today – what's an appropriate activity after an impromptu "sleepover"? – but she thinks a good first step is telling people about their blossoming relationship. She knows Brooke, for one, would not want to hear about it from anyone but Peyton herself.

She mentions this to Lucas, and he nods in agreement. She's surprised he folds so easily to her request, but she supposes he'll pretty much do whatever she wants right now. She _did_ make him breakfast, after all.

It's past ten by the time they're ready to leave. She stands by the door, waiting for him to finally abandon the editorial section of the newspaper. He walks up to her and wraps his arms around her, kissing her neck affectionately.

"I'm gonna love you forever, Peyton Sawyer," he whispers against her skin.

She thinks she's never heard such beautiful words.

They go to Karen's café first, because she deserves to know before anyone else. She's the one who watched their simple, beautiful, easy relationship grow and intensify. She's the one who served them coffee every day after school. She's the one who welcomed Peyton with open arms.

The older woman is thrilled, predictably enough, and she brews them a pot of coffee while they sit and chat. She begs them to tell her how it all happened, but they only shake their heads and exchange sly looks – that story can wait for a while.

Or maybe forever.

Once they leave the café, they split up, regrettably. Peyton goes to Brooke's, Lucas to Naley's.

Peyton's not surprised that Brooke squeals in excitement and throws her arms around her best friend. That's always been her way. She's also not surprised that the brunette doesn't seem the least bit fazed by this new development. She's got Felix now; she's happy. She doesn't need Lucas. If she ever did.

The two girls curl up on the sofa and grab a carton of ice cream. Peyton tells the entire story, and Brooke listens in rapture. Peyton's glad she can do this. It makes it real. At last.

Lucas' encounter with Nathan and Haley is just as smooth and predictable. Haley hugs him affectionately and jokingly reprimands him for taking so long, while Nathan claps him on the back in a typical man-hug and tells him to enjoy his sloppy seconds. They all laugh at that; they're long past the bitterness that Dan seemed to think would carry over from his generation. Lucas is happy about that.

Lucas and Peyton meet up again at Karen's café around noon. Lucas calls Keith while they eat lunch. The two men chat easily while Peyton and Karen catch up. It's so easy and content that Peyton wonders why they never did this before. It's a culmination of sorts, this lunch at the café, although of course neither one would call it that. They figure they've got a long time ahead of them. They're nowhere near the end.

And they've never been happier.

They eat lunch quickly and decide to drive around town, stopping at their favorite spots and reliving their history. It's only been a few months since they first met, but Peyton feels like she's known Lucas as long as she's known Brooke, and Lucas – writer that he is – knows Peyton's the girl he's been looking for all his life.

She looks over at him as they walk down the street toward her car. He's staring directly at the sun – he often says he knows it's bad for him but he's just can't stop himself – and his arm is thrown carelessly around her shoulders. He's wearing a shirt that matches the color of his eyes, and jeans that hang low on his lean hips. And he's smiling.

It's moments like these, moments when she catches him unawares, that he's most beautiful. She looks at him for a long moment, sighing with pleasure.

Forever can't start soon enough.

_Why it's always, always  
Goodnight and go  
Darling, not again  
Goodnight and and  
Go_

_fin_


End file.
